Meanwhile
by juice pouches and rocky
Summary: A series of Beca/Jesse drabbles throughout/after the movie: deleted scenes, expanded scenes, etc.
1. Radio Station

This was briefly mentioned in a deleted scene where Luke tells Beca the only reason he finally listened to her mix was because Jesse kept telling him to.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Pitch Perfect. (But I finally bought the DVD today so.)

* * *

_"I'm not discussing this again."_

_"Not today."_

_"Maybe later."_

Another week had passed, but Jesse wasn't giving up.

They'd been through this before. Jesse's gaze fell briefly to the floor as embarrassment flooded his features. This wasn't the first time he had bothered Luke with the notion of giving Beca's music a listen, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. He could tell Luke had no intention of listening to the tapes piled up in the suggestion bin. All Luke had to do was listen to one, and Jesse knew he'd be hooked. Just one. Time after time, whenever Beca wasn't around, Jesse was asking him about playing new music. Nearly always, the answer was something akin to "no." But that didn't stop Jesse. He'd see him around campus and hunt him down; he'd see him in the quad and chase him across the grass; he'd corner him in the studio.

"Luke, can I talk to you for a sec?" Luke rounded the corner of the shelf with Jesse hot on his heels.

"Make it quick," he consented with a sigh.

Jesse sets the crate of albums on the desk and follows Luke timidly into the sound booth. Luke doesn't stop him, so he continues with slightly higher confidence. "I really think you should listen to Beca's mix tapes. They're _really_—"

"really good, I know," Luke interrupted, rolling his eyes.

"If you'd just listen to _one_… I think you'd like it."

Luke turned towards him with narrowed eyes. "Why is this so important to you?"

The bluntness of his question shocked Jesse. "I—Because she's my friend," he stammered.

"Uh huh…" Luke didn't appear to believe him. He turned away, and Jesse followed him desperately.

"Because she values your opinion," he added, "and this is what she wants to do with her life. She wants to make music, and she needs to know that her music is good enough to be out there. She just… needs to hear it from you."

"Why me?" Luke asked, "I mean, why can't you do it?"

"I—" Jesse fumbled with his words, "you're the station manager. She wants your opinion. She… your opinion means more to her."

Luke was silent for several moments. "You like her."

"No," Jesse argued almost too quickly, "no. She's just a friend who makes awesome music."

"You've heard them before, then?"

"Yeah," Jesse nodded with a smile, shrugging, "I mean, she's shown me a few."

"And they're worth it? You're not just saying that to get into her pants or something?"

"What?" Jesse asked, shocked, "no—no, of course not. I just told you: she's just a friend. I just… I really think you should give her a chance."

Jesse reached for one of Beca's mixes in the suggestion box. There were at least seven of hers in there now, each labeled with a different date. They had been piling up for months now, and, frankly, it made Jesse mad. He held up one of the tapes imploringly, his doe-like eyes piercing Luke's.

"Those eyes won't work on me, Jesse," Luke snapped, and Jesse recoiled in confusion. His gaze softened a bit, and his voice was sincere as he spoke again. "But I'll consider it."

Jesse's eyes lit up and he murmured a quick "thanks" to Luke before returning to his work._ Fair enough._


	2. Got It

Jesse's POV after the Trebles win Regionals.

**Disclaimer: **Pitch Perfect is still not mine this is a travesty~~

* * *

It was like the glass shattered in slow motion—as if he could see each individual shard fall to the earth. That was Beca's world, crashing down around her as the policeman met her eyes. He watched as she clutched what was left of the trophy, her eyes round with terror. Distantly, he could hear Fat Amy screaming as she fled.

Jesse watched silently as the policeman approached. There was no kindness in his eyes. Spectators fled in waves, and the Trebles were gone before Jesse could stop them. Beca told the Bellas to leave, and they did so without arguing; Beca was going to take the fall for the incident without complaint. Fat Amy, the Tonehangers, Donald, and Bumper were not included in her story.

The man questioned him about the incident, and Beca's eyes drilled him the entire time. She had taken full responsibility, and she was now demanding that he play along. So he did. He agreed that Beca had been angry that the Bellas didn't come in first, and she had thrown the trophy at the window in a fit of rage.

So the policeman led her out to the cruiser in handcuffs, and Beca looked back at him as she walked away, mouthing a "thank you" as she ducked into the back of the car. He was frozen for a moment, his mind reeling with thoughts of what would happen next. But he nodded quickly, offering a reassuring smile as the car pulled away.

"I'll get you out of this," he said quietly, though he was positive that she wouldn't be able to distinguish what he had said.

He stood dumbly in the wreckage of the accident, looking around with a thin smile. Of course no one had stayed behind. Of course they had all left. He shook his head, silent as he pondered how to get Beca out of jail.

His phone was in his hand before he knew what he was doing. It was the only way, right? He knew he wouldn't be able to bail her out; he was a first-year college student who was already in debt. He couldn't afford it—at least, not on his own.

* * *

"Who else was I gonna call, okay?" Why are you yelling at me?" he asked desperately, throwing his hands wide to make his point, "I'm the only one here."

"I didn't ask you to be," she responded rapidly, defensively.

He paused, blinking furiously in an attempt to understand her reasoning and provide an explanation of his own. It was clear to him that she had never really had help from anyone before. His words came out almost pleadingly as he tried to help her understand his logic. "I was just trying to help you."

"I don't need your help," she said stubbornly, "You're not my boyfriend."

Jesse's heart sank.

Of course he didn't think he was her boyfriend. They were friends. And sure, he wanted more—hoped for more—but he knew better than to flat-out _assume _they were in a relationship. He cared about her. He cared about her in the way a person would care about their girlfriend or boyfriend, yes, but that didn't make him her boyfriend. He wanted to help; he was trying to help.

She turned towards her father, and he nodded as he looked at the ground, sounding more okay than he really was. "Got it."


End file.
